“Walker—Whiskey—whatever.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and her head shook. “I … work here.”
Had I heard her correctly?
She’d said … she worked here?
The questions were coming in even faster.
So was the anger.
The bolt that had shot through me earlier was roaring in my chest like a sky full of lightning, and when my mouth opened, I didn’t try to control my voice at all. “You …what?”
TWELVE
Alivia
My hands went straight over my ears once Walker shouted in the grittiest voice, “You …what?”
I knew he wasn’t asking me to repeat that I worked here. His choice of wording was because he was in shock that I was his employee.
Regardless, there was no way I’d let him treat me the same way he’d chewed up not one, but two of his employees tonight.
“Don’t yell at me.” My eyes briefly squeezed shut. “I can’t handle it.”
I’d had all night to think about what this conversation would look like. I just didn’t expect for it to happen so soon. I was positive I could do an excellent job at avoiding him for at least a few more shifts. In the meantime, I could get my thoughts together and figure out what I was going to say.
But what I hadn’t anticipated from any of this was anger.
And that was the emotion that was staring me right in the face.
“What are you, a fucking child?”
My hands fell to my sides. “I’d really like to tell you to fuck off for saying that.”
He glared at me, the heat from his stare coming over my face like a backhanded slap. “No one tells me to fuck off in my restaurant.”
“I didn’t. I told you I’d like to. What I’d also like to tell you is that I’ve been surrounded by screaming assholes for most of my life and I can’t take the shouting.” I shoved my hands into my apron. “I want to talk to you, Whiskey, but I’m not going to talk to you if you keep up that tone.”
He crossed his arms, his body towering over me as I stood before him. I felt like the size of an actual contact lens. “Talk.”
I glanced around, as there were noises coming from other parts of the kitchen, telling me we weren’t alone. “Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere private so we don’t start any rumors?” I’d only been here for two shifts, and I’d already heard months’ worth of drama.
His head shook as if he couldn’t believe he was even entertaining my suggestion. “Follow me.”
He led me through the front section of the kitchen, past the walk-in fridge and freezer, and into one of the back offices. A quick scan of the room told me this wasn’t just any office; it was his, his accomplishments framed and displayed. As I closed the door, he moved toward the back wall and faced me.
“Talk,” he repeated.
“Why are you so angry?”
“Why?” His expression showed me I’d asked the dumbest question. “I’ve had people lie to me throughout my entire career, their motives sketchy from the very beginning. But I’ve never had anyone fuck me to get clout in my restaurant.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
That, out of all accusations, was the one he was throwing at me.
“God, it’s so sad to me that your brain went there. That you never even considered I had taken this job because I wanted to be here and you had absolutely nothing to do with that reason.”
He raised his chin. “Bullshit.”
